


Through My Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of supernaturalimagines': Imagine being assigned to Sam as his guardian angel and falling in love with him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through My Eyes

_ Just breathe. Breathe. It's not going to kill you. _

 

You groan, rubbing your eyes to wash away the growing tension. 

 

“Who am I kidding? I'm screwed.” 

 

You can't believe that for your second assignment you have to watch over a Winchester. A Winchester! It baffles you how anyone is supposed to watch over any of them and protect them. They are giant flames for every supernatural creature. You've heard the horror stories, the myths, but never thought you'd be one of the unlucky many that would have to watch over one of the clan. With one final sigh of resignation you go into the library where your supervisor last saw them enter. 

 

With no description, other than you'll know when you see them, you enter the expansive library in the middle of town like a child left in a packed mall with no clue where their parents are. Bewildered with the large selection of books you don't notice a large, well-built man approaching you with his face buried inside of a thick rimmed book. As you collide his book clatters to the ground and you fall off balance, but stabilize before falling on the ground. 

 

“Sorry, I didn't see you there.” The man grabs his book, an encyclopedia of every Norse myth and folklore, and stops mid-way when his eyes meet yours. “Hi, I'm Sam.” 

 

He extends his hand. “Y/N, it's nice meeting you.” 

 

Now you know what your supervisor meant by you'll know when you see him. Wrapped around his wrist are two glowing ribbons, one red and the other a blue tinted white. The red ribbon is frayed, almost as if snipped, on two edges while the blue tinted white ribbon looks brand new. For a moment it strikes you as strange, but you can't quite place your finger on why. 

 

“Well, I got to go, but it was nice meeting you.” Sam waves and heads over to an equally handsome man in a hoodie. 

 

“Yeah, nice meeting you too.” You whisper to yourself, mesmerized. Maybe you'll enjoy this more than you first thought. 

 

The next morning you watch from a distance as Sam and the same man from the day before drive to the outskirts of town. Not wanting to alert them to your presence you wait until the glow from Sam's ribbon ribbon fades over the horizon. In an old VW bug, not your choice but the only running car available in the area, you follow, always keeping far enough away so that you won't be spotted or heard. Much to your alarm as you park your car The glow from Sam's ribbon starts to blink rapidly. 

 

No longer concerned with being stealthy you bulldoze your way towards a ranch style home where his beacon is coming from. Unsure where or what they are facing you peek in through a dirty glass. You spot the two men masterfully fighting off a group of demons. As the final demon falls, body limp and eyes empty, the rapid flickering steadies. Before they can spot you, you race back to your car and speed away. Now you know why everyone is always so obsessed with them. The Winchesters are not people to underestimate.

 

Back at your HQ, a large office complex, you riffle through the archive of files on your computer. It's been bothering you the way that Sam's white ribbon looks. It too new. Pristine. After thirty years it should be a little worn down from scraps that no guardian can prevent, especially considering the Winchester track record. After entering Sam's name into the search engine a sea of files fills your screen. Complaints and requests for removement as guardian are bountiful. 

 

No wonder his ribbon is new! No guardian has stayed with him longer than two months. Somewhere in every complaint or resignation each angel would reference that they believed the Winchesters were self-sufficient enough to not need a guardian. 

 

After combing through everything you notice the dates. Right around the time of the apocalypse there was no guardian assigned to either of the Winchesters. Your curiosity peaks and you search for Sam’s brother, Dean Winchester. Your eyes widen in disbelief. Ever since Dean returned to life he has never had another guardian assigned. With an unprecedented slam your laptop closes. You look up and your supervisor enraged face glares down at you. 

 

“What do you think you're doing?” Her voice is cold and flat. It has only gets that way when someone truly messes up. 

 

“I just wanted to see if any of Sam's past guardian left any helpful notes.” It's possible, but the lie doesn't sit entirely right for her. 

 

“Fine. Don't ever search them again. Ever! Understood?” From her tone and her posture, stiff and ready to snap, you can tell that this is your first and final warning. 

 

“Understood.” Your supervisor angrily strides back into her office. 

 

She is clearly hiding something and you want to, need to, find out what it is. But you're definitely not going to be able to do that here. You'll have to get close to the Winchesters, one way or another. 

 

Now knowing what Sam’s aura looks like you easily spot their newest location. They're in Dallas, Texas. In the blink of an eye and a flurry of flapping wings you arrive near the boys’ motel. You enter the budget motel and can't help the grimace as you look at the filthy floor and haphazardly kept desk. The man behind the counter gives you a lazy grin. You stomach your nausea, the smell of ammonia seeping into the room from the open bathroom door behind the desk, and give the man a polite smile. 

 

“Hi, I would like a room for a week.” You voice goes an octave higher than normal with the extra effort to be kind. 

 

“Okay, that'll be five hundred dollars.” His grin grows wider as the shock on your face can't be reigned in. “Or you could, you know, give a guy a little service and I'll knock down the price.” He slowly starts to unzip his fly to hint at what he means if you didn't catch his drift by his presumptuous tone.  

 

Your smile goes crooked, lifting a the right corner in a sneer. “I'll pass, those twelve seconds of sucking you off isn’t worth my time.” You slam down the five hundred and snatch the key from the desk counter. Over your shoulder you say, “Plus, my services are worth more than five hundred for shitty motel room.” 

 

Disgusted, feeling dirty and exposed, you glance down at the key. The room number, 1A, is scrawled on the faux leather tag attached is badly faded, barely legible. For the second time, you bump into someone as you idly stare at the motel room key.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You raise your head after giving the person a curt nod and a glowing ribbon catches your eye. 

 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Sam’s voice surprises you despite already figuring out who the white ribbon belongs to. 

 

“Yeah, I’m so sorry. This is not like me. I’m usually always paying attention to my surrounding.” Embarrassed, you lower your eyes.

 

“I don’t mind. What are you doing here in Dallas?” His flummoxed tone doesn’t escape you and you can’t blame him. It’s not likely to bump into each other twice in two completely different towns. 

 

You say the quickest excuse that comes to mind. “I’m visiting some old high school friends. We haven’t seen each other in a while.” Believable but difficult for Sam to verify. 

 

“I guess I’ll see you around then? Bye.” Sam walks away but stops. He turns on his heels and comes back towards you, purpose in every stride. “This is really sudden but would you like to go out to eat or for some coffee this week? I mean, if you’re not busy.”

 

This is the perfect opportunity to get close to Sam and figure out what your supervisor is hiding. Also, you can’t ignore the way your heart speeds up when he gives you that shy smile. “I’d like that.”

 

“Okay, I’ll come pick you up, tomorrow, three pm, sound good?” Sam’s lips curl and his eyes shine. 

 

“Yup.” You start walking backwards towards your new home. “I’m in room 1A.”

 

Sam’s eyes widen and he smiles, revealing all his teeth. “We’re in room 1B.” Sam notices how that might sound and clarifies. “My brother and I. We’re doing the whole travel the country thing.” Not true but he doesn't need to know what they're really here for. 

 

With an awkward wave and expectant eyes you and Sam part ways. Images of what your date could be bounce in your head, tiny movies that only makes your heart race even more. But the date itself is better than you could imagine. Not one moment slipped into awkward silence once the two of you talked about mythology and history. It is rare for you to find anyone who can last ten minutes talking with you about the coincidences between days of yore and now. Even you were surprised when the sun started to set over the local coffee shop. Three hours of nonstop conversation and each of you didn't want it to end. 

 

Sam walks you to the front of your motel room, rubbing his clammy hands across his jeans. “I really liked spending time with you.” 

 

“Me too.” You quickly sense the loll of waiting for what to do next settling in and decide to make the next move. “Would you like to go out with me again? I know this really nice paintball arena that has a couples duel every couple of weeks.” You half expect Sam to refuse, to politely turn you down and ruin your whole plan, but that was the last thing on his mind. 

 

“Perfect. Monday's our last day before we hit the road again.” His smile turns bittersweet at the thought of leaving Dallas, but more importantly, leaving and possibly never seeing you again. The girl that has spun a web around him and only gets more tangled as he tries to turn away. 

 

“I'll see you here at 11 am, Sunday?” Sam nods in agreement and quickly gives you a kiss on the check, testing your boundaries without pushing the limits all at once. 

 

With flushed cheeks you close your motel door, alone in a less than pleasant bedroom. In the silence you can hear your heart beating away in your ears and the way your body almost vibrates with excess enthusiasm. You look towards the wall that separates your rooms and the buzz dies down. All that comes to mind is how quickly your getting in over your head. 

 

_ Y/N, what are you doing? This is a mission. Just a mission.  _

 

You scoff. They're meaningless words.  You have recited this mantra every time you looked into his sparkling eyes. And each and every time you only got more lost in the brilliance that is Sam Winchester. As you collapse into your bed only one thought remains: you can't wait until Sunday to see him again. 

 

That Sunday afternoon you arrive with Sam beside you at the paintball arena. Ten groups of couples are lined up to compete to see who will win a free pizza and a trophy entitled “Mercenary”. A stout woman in fatigues is hands you and Sam your gear before shouting her way through the rules. No smacking, no camping, and no hand to hand combat. Simple enough. The teams go to their own respective positions and wait for the beginning gong. 

 

The gong’s chime and everyone charges forward. A flurry of brightly colored balls falls through the air and splatter against the surrounding trees. You and Sam huddle behind a log. He leans in and whispers in your ear. 

 

“You go right and I'll go left. Stay behind anything you can. Sound like a plan?” His hot breath blows stray pieces of your hair around and you feel goosebumps growing on your neck. 

 

“Sounds like a plan.”  

 

On the count of three you go right and go into position behind a tree. The red group, a pair of women with matching rings and the same jet black hair, is huddled behind a tire. With sniper like precision you shot one in the back and the other in the shoulder. The referees watching from above call the red team's elimination. The game rages on. 

 

It is now between you and one last team, the green team. You sneak behind one of the green team members and shoot him in the middle of his back with one of your blue colored pellets. The royal blue color splatters onto his clothing and partially exposed forearms. You wait a moment but the referees don't call the green team's elimination. Once you feel the cold barrel of the paintball gun against your neck you know why. 

 

“You did better than I thought you would, Darling. But I'm not losing to  _ you.”  _ The man's gruff voice is filled with contempt. 

 

You close your eyes, waiting for the impact from the pellets, and you hear it but don't feel it. Sam is standing behind the considerably shorter man with his gun aimed at his leg, more specifically, his knee. The man crumples in pain, the impact causing him to lose balance. 

 

“Green team, removed! Blue team wins!”

 

You launch your arms around Sam's neck and hold him close. He wraps you in his arms and places his head on top of yours. You can't hear his heart beating erratically and then you feel something. The paintball arena’s staff  comes out with your prizes but you barely notice. Your eyes are trained on the materialized red ribbon tied around your wrist. Before you can dwell on it too much Sam calls you over to eat. 

 

The conversation is a blur for you. All of your attention was focused on that ribbon. If it is what you think it is, a soulmate ribbon, then you might be in deeper trouble than you initially planned. Sam drives back to the motel and walks you to your door. 

 

“I really enjoyed our date. And thanks for saving me.” You go to say goodnight, to figure out how to play that you'll be following the Winchesters after their mission finishes tonight when Sam steals a kiss. 

 

You don't know how long you stand there without responding, but when Sam goes to pull away you bring him right back. The feeling of his lips on yours melts the world around you and your worries. It ends much too soon for either of you. 

 

“Here's my number. Maybe when we're back in the same town we can meet again, pick things back up.” Sam stuffs a ripped piece of paper with his number scrawled quickly onto it. 

 

“Yeah, I'd really like that.” 

 

Neither of you want to really separate, to stop seeing the galaxies that lives in each other eyes, but Dean interrupts calling for Sam to hurry up. With your motel door between you and the departing Impala you fiddle with the ribbon on your wrist. It's satin fabric slides through your fingers delicately. You find yourself going over it again and again as you wait in your bed for some tremendous idea to pop into your head, but only visions of him dance in your head. Even as you start to fall asleep anything regarding your job is far from your mind. You take on last look down at the ribbon

 

_ This is not at all what I imagined when I got assigned. Maybe that's a good thing.  _


End file.
